Mistletoe
by magicalriot
Summary: She had never been one of those girls who fell over themselves in hysterics when something went wrong. Until Booth woke up and asked who she was. My answer to the finale! Enjoy.


Mistletoe

My post finale fic. Couldn't resist! Don't own a thing, people.

And yes, I know it's out of character, but… well, I like it anyway.

She had never been one of those girls who fell over themselves in hysterics when something went wrong.

No, Temperance Brennan was far more likely to shut down, back away, and run towards her logical fortress where emotions were held at bay by the well-oiled team of facts and science.

She had never been the hysterical type.

Until Booth woke up and asked who she was.

In hindsight, she blamed four nights of nail-biting, tense waiting. She charged it to lack of sleep and stress and the fact that she was undernourished and dehydrated.

At the time, all she knew was that she couldn't breathe.

She had made strange, guttural hiccupping noises, feeling wet tears racing down her cheeks, her legs no longer capable of holding her up. She slid to the floor, ignoring the hoarse familiar-but-not voice of a man asking her if she was OK.

'Ma'am? Ma'am? Nurse, help, please!'

After that, she allowed the nurse to lead her into the waiting room. The older woman was disapproving; an angry and disgusted look upon her face. Brennan didn't blame her. She thought the same way of women who reacted so poorly to challenges.

The expression changed to one of pity when she heard the doctors update of the man in the room.

Brennan sat in the waiting room with her hot sugary tea, staring blankly into space as the doctor informed her of the possibilities.

Temporary, semi-permanent, some memories, none at all.

She may not be a medical doctor, but she had read enough to know that brain injuries were notoriously unpredictable.

When the doctor left and the nurse deemed her sane, Brennan dragged a chair over to his room, sitting outside his door so that she could just see in through the window.

'Darl, you can go in,' a night nurse informed her four hours into her bizarre self-imposed guard duty.

'No, I can't.'

Time passed, as it does. Angela tried to engage her in conversation. She failed. Angela spoke to Booth, spending the whole time fighting tears, and emerging to collapse in a weeping mess. Brennan rubbed her back and made appropriate noises.

The rest of the team came to visit, bringing photos and case files and Thai food. Still Brennan remained outside that door.

In the room, Booth was more than a little perplexed by her presence – or lack thereof.

'Who is she?' He asked Sweets, three days after waking. 'She hasn't moved since I woke up. I know, you've told me that she's my partner, but…' His eyes remained glued on the back of her head, as they did so often.

Sweets felt his heart jump, in sympathy and fear and sadness and guilt. 'I can't tell you who she is to you, Booth. It would be implanting memories.'

'Angela thinks I love her.'

'Do you?'

Booth sighed and ran his hand over his bald head. 'I don't know. She's something.' His brow furrowed. 'Why do I instantly picture Wonder Woman?'

Sweets gave a choking laugh. 'Halloween last year. You both dressed up. You were Clark Kent.'

Booth smiled sadly. It stung at Sweets that the smile was slightly off, like staring at the faded photograph of a mirror image. 'I want my memories, Sweets.' The longing in his voice was painful to hear. 'I want _her_.'

Sweets stood up, feeling something rough and raw coursing through him. Sweets rarely took a stand, rarely blazed into battle. He was content to sit back, watch the scene play out and pick up the pieces once it was done.

But he was starting to think that he had a responsibility to do something more. Fueled by anger and regret, Sweets decided it was time to charge. 'Wait here,' he said shortly.

It was a testimony to how much Booth was no longer Booth that he didn't even comment.

Sweets threw open the door then slammed it shut behind him, leering over where Brennan sat dully.

'Up,' he ordered.

Brennan complied, seeming dazed. 'Sweets, I - .'

'Oh, shut up Brennan,' he spat at her. Brennan recoiled.

Sweets grinned bitterly. 'I have taken crap from both of you. I have dealt with your mess and disaster and inability to trust anyone but each other. I have watched you being madly in love, and let you – I let you! – just keep going. Not anymore.' Sweets approached menacingly, backing Brennan against the window.

'I do not want to hurt you, or him. But this has got to stop! If you love him, like I know you do? Then you should be in there, Brennan! He needs you. Tell me – has he ever let you down when you needed him? Hm?'

Sweets lent back, breathing heavily. Brennan's stunned face was coloured with guilt, and fear… and tears.

He dealt his final blow, hating himself. 'I always thought you two were perfect for each other. But if you are abandoning him now, then you don't deserve him like I thought you did.'

And with that devastating hit to the fortress, Sweets retreated.

Hoping he had done more good than harm.

It took her ten minutes and forty three seconds to walk into that room.

'Hi,' he said tentatively as she entered.

'Hi,' she echoed. She walked to the base of his bed, avoiding his gaze. 'Have you had any…' her clinical, doctorly voice trailed off. Tears welled again.

She gasped and turned away, swiping angrily at her face.

'Dr. Brennan?' Booth asked. 'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.'

Brennan tensed. 'Why?' she asked harshly.

Booth exhaled. 'I… I'm causing you pain. I'm sorry for that.'

She gave a bubbling laugh and turned around, her eyes averted. 'I'm the one who's been hiding outside your door like a coward. I should be apologising.'

Brennan inched along the bed, so that she was standing right beside him. She took his hand between hers.

Booth revealed at the warmth, wondering why no other touch managed to feel quite like hers.

'You know,' Brennan mused, still unable to look up. 'It is normally the person with whom you spend the most time that is capable of restoring memory.'

'That's you,' he told her. 'The others told me. They said we're always together.'

Brennan nodded. Booth felt a tear fall on the back of his hand.

At the moment it touched his skin, he felt something snap. Not the restoration of memories, so much as the impression of déjà vu, and the accompanying knowledge that he was always there when she was hurting. That it was his job, his role, to protect her, from all kinds of pain. That he wanted her to be happy, more than he wanted most things in the world.

He lent across with his free hand and tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. 'Hey, Bones…'

Her eyes snapped to his. Shock reverberated through her glance. Booth blinked in surprise.

Her eyes were so blue. So, so blue.

'What – what did you call me?' She whispered huskily.

Booth continued to blink in quick succession as image after image flashed through his mind, linking pieces of information others had given him, feelings he had had, giving names to faces and faces to names.

Giving him his life, in a photo montage with accompanying background feelings.

'Daffodil. Daisy. Jupiter,' he said in a low voice. 'Jasper, brainy Smurf, black dress in Vegas. Forienger, Poco, fridges, cars, ships, guns…' his eyes narrowed. 'Fake death, murder trials, baby…'

A smile was spreading across Brennan's face, matching the one traversing Booth's.

'You're back…' she began.

'Did you really think I'd leave you?' Booth asked softly. 'I missed you,' he added, suddenly aware of what he had been without for the last three days.

Brennan laughed, tears falling again. 'You missed me?' She wiped at her face.

Booth allowed the grin to fall from his face, squeezing her hand. 'How many more near-misses is it going to take, Bones?'

It took Brennan all of three seconds to decide that she was tired of the fortress. She was going to take this opportunity to get out.

'You know, Booth? You forgot to mention one vital thing.'

Booth felt his stomach sink. He might have only had memory of her for a few moments, but he still should have known her tendency to run and hide.

He plastered on a fake smile. 'What's that, Bones?'

She dropped his hand, placing hers on either side of his stubbly face instead. 'Mistletoe.'

When the doctor entered his patients room half-an-hour later, he was surprised to find two persons in the bed instead of one.

He was even more surprised that they appeared to be making out like 13-year-olds at their first dance.


End file.
